The Chosen Undead
by Leider Hosen
Summary: The world is dying. The fire is fading. Demons and monsters roam the lands and the miniscule bastions of civilization are eroding away. Oblivion is imminent, and seemingly nothing can avert it. But, one undead, gripped with rage and an insatiable appetite for souls, refuses to hollow, even as he dies time and time again. One undead, may be Chosen...
1. Undead Asylum

A/N: Welcome brave Undead, take a rest and replenish yourselves by the metaphoric bonfire and lean thine ear to a tale of old, a tale of an undead who refuses to hollow, embracing death time and time again to link the fire, end the curse of the undead, and succeed the great Lord Gwyn- or not.

Okay, now that we have the obligatory fancy opening out of the way, I'd like to pay special tribute to Alone in the Blight, who persuaded me to get off my ass and do something interesting with his compilation "Our Dark Thoughts", which I recommend you see because it is full of amazing and inspiring ideas and it would be sweet to gather some talent and make something spectacular. This will be as faithful a recreation of the Dark Souls universe, and the journey through it, as possible, but taking his advice I've challenged myself to stay true to the lore and mood of the Dark Souls while introducing original idea's, concepts, dialogue, and characters if I can think something up that isn't half terrible. And in the spirit of collaboration, I'll check reviews and personal messages for ideas you come up with and see if they can't be done. All credits will go to their author's at the end (as not to spoil any nasty surprises at the beginning). Before you get angry, no, the main character (pronounced Ver-ez, much like Ares) is not overpowered, even if he may seem like it at the present time. He's portrayed as a character who knows how to fight very well and takes advantage of advanced combat tactics, much like a player who's played the game a few times through, the rest of it is just hard-as-nails determination not to die, but as you will see in later chapters, he does have a limit, and a harsh one at that, so fear not hardcore players, the main character will die- over and over and over again. As for the ability to function with extreme battle damage- that's basically the equivalent of his lifebar being at a sliver while still letting him live, except my way is more realistic and thematic :3

Now, without further Ado- the first chapter of "The Chosen Undead"

* * *

The darkness at the edges of the cold, dank room twitched as a small shape came scurrying across the hard stone floor, sending a shadow over the reddened orange torchlight, the old sconces stubbornly burning on as the walls of the prison gradually rotted away along with the rest of the world. The rat, who'd found his way in through a broken portion of the wall, made a pitter patter of tiny feet as it crept in on a corpse propped against the wall, sitting limply upon an old bench. The rat, already fattened from the other hapless prisoners, still chose to run in and begin climbing the old boot of the dead warrior, long ago passed- it's feet making a dry scratching on the coveralls reinforced with heavy padding to ward away fire- insulate against lighting and the elements, until at last it came to the lap of the body, seeing what it desired. The underbelly still had some meat on it, a gap in the fabric giving it free access as it snuffled over-

It was seized by strong, gloved hands, the thing wriggling as it was lifted to the face of the old wanderer, peering over it hungrily. A smile formed at the edge of his cracked, dried lips as his fingers, thin as dusty twigs, crushed it's throat, skillfully applying pressure to just the right place as the base of the skull, fracturing it. The form stopped wriggling, the wanderer feeling its essence, traces of its spirit, seep from its body in a fog of white. The spirit of the wanderer flared a moment, then died again.

He tossed the useless corpse from him, now that it was devoid of a soul- the thing most valuable to him- more valuable than his ageless armor coming apart at the seams, or his old sword, which was buried in a case of confiscated goods gods know how long ago somewhere. A thin, husky sigh escaped the lungs of the wanderer, the room feeling damper and darker than ever as his gaze followed the torchlight across the room, to a single panel of pale white light.

The dust lit up in the afternoon sun, a ray leading to the top of the room- which may as well have been the top of the universe at this point.

He'd tried over and over again, maddeningly like an opiate addict seeking his next dose, to reach that one panel of light in the ceiling, yawning open- almost begging him to cross over to freedom- to the light. His nostalgia wore off, the wanderer trying to recall what it was like- outside- or even what his name was-

At his feet, carved in with- with something- he couldn't recall- was a single word: Veres

That was right- somewhere at the back of the near hollow wanderer's mind, a spark clicked within him- his memories, all but lost to him, slowly coming together. It was so foggy, so blurred and mired, he could barely recall-

But, he knew that he was once a splendid warrior, a mercenary that wandered the lands of Carim, known for their insidious but powerful fighters- that he once paid tribute to- to- Velka, it was Velka! The goddess of sin and crows. Veres was once known to be one of the finest of all swordsmen- it was once said that he could challenge the knights of Berenike and Balder on equal footing, so long as it was single combat.

But then, one day, he died.

Trouble was- much to the astonishment of his comrades when he emerged screaming from the bonfire, clutching his neck as he felt himself burning alive- he didn't stay dead. Veres later discovered the burn had left a perfectly symmetrical hole through the back of his shoulder, a dark pit circled with a reddish crown. The Darksign.

The memories went fuzzy, after that- all Veres knew was that the one's he called "friend", the band of great fighters he once thought would stay with him- though he couldn't recall their faces or names anymore, betrayed him. They turned him in to the clerics, who had him exiled here, to rot. Though he struggled hard, he was outmatched, and each time he died, he returned to the same fire- weaker- more vulnerable- more decayed, until he could fight no longer.

Madness hung at the edges of his psyche, always. Veres knew any day now, he would die of old age or starvation once again, his spirit returning to the bonfire- only embers with a ceremonial blade stuck through after resuscitating him so many times. He would find himself standing in a pile of ashes, his emaciated, corpselike body with barely a pound left on his garish bones shambling to his corner to recover his clothing, dress, shove his own body off his bench, and sit down again.

The souls of mice helped a little, but he knew that soon, he would run completely out of energy, and hollow forever. The one thing that kept him going- was rage. He felt a rage so deep, so all consuming within him that he refused to let the last of his conscious leave, just yet. He hated the world- he hated the gods and clerics- he hated everything. His rage outweighed his madness- or perhaps he was already insane and his anger was only a side effect- so he could stay himself for just a little longer.

But… Veres shook the feeling of hope from his balded head. No-one was coming for him. No-one was going to save him. There was only oblivion, for _that_, was his fate…

There was a thud of metal on stone, Veres slowly looking up from his rest, half in confusion, half in curiosity since there hadn't been anything save the occasional rat since he couldn't recall when.

A body had fallen form the top of his universe- the body of an old, long dead guard who used to patrol back and forth across the roof, occasionally looking down to mock him, though he likely hollowed ages ago. Veres leaned forward, spotting as small, sparkling shape at his side on his belt.

A single, long iron key. Gods- could it be, could it possibly be-

The wanderer looked from the body, following the ray of light to the face of a knight- not hollowed- not even injured, but an immaculate warrior donning royal, elegant armor with a silver sheen and royal crest of Astora emblazoned over his cloaked chest. He said nothing, only nodded- sending a silent message words never could, and leaned back away, the ceiling once again a faint portal of light in the darkness.

The wanderer looked back to the corpse- to the key- and willed himself to move from his rest, his joints giving a hollow creak as he staggered up, dust falling from his now ancient coat of thick leathers and fabrics. The wanderer came forward a shaky step, the gravity of the room seeming to jump about, until he fell forward onto his face, his twig-like legs giving way.

But- Veres refused to surrender, and pushed himself upward once again, his spindly legs continuing to flounder under him as he used his arms to propel himself forward, until he more fell than leaned onto the body, it's hollowed face showing nothing as the wanderer reached to his belt and removed the key with shaking hands, another hand reaching down and drawing a sword from his belt- the rusty old thing that broke in two as Veres wrestled it from the scabbard.

It was nearly useless for battle- only the completely hollowed would find the rusty blade to be a good weapon, but it was better than going empty handed. The wanderer got up and staggered to the door, finding his stride as his dusty old joints ground the sand from them.

He was so terrified he'd drop the key as he reached through the iron bars, he wrenched it with both hands as he frantically scrapped some rust out of the lock with his pinky before trying to squeeze the stubborn key in.

The old key turned with difficulty, the mechanisms crunching as they were forced into motion- Veres praying they wouldn't break- until there was a great crunch, and a tinny of broken metal. His heart dropped, the wanderer removing his hands from the bars.

But- as he did so the gate started to move, Veres pushing it with his minimal but full bodyweight, the thing grinding open as the old lock finally unlatched.

He was free- he was finally, finally free to move again. A feeling bordering mania enveloped the wanderer as he staggered forward, a death grip on the broken strait sword, emerging into a long hall with many hollows along the edge, a few old torches illuminating the area as Veres came upon the first hollow, banging his head on a wall and rambling incoherently to himself.

He didn't see the wanderer coming- smirking to himself as he brought his strait sword forward, and drove it into the back of his target, driving him into the wall. The hollow barely made a sound as Veres continued to stab him, the first hit sinking in only partially as it was so dull, but the hollow finally fell to the ground.

It wasn't personal- they were all prisoners here, but Veres knew that as an undead, he would absorb the essence of any he killed- their soul entering his body rather than passing onto wherever you wish to say.

And he needed souls- badly- if he could get souls he could restore his energy, and evade his hollowing. If the rumors held, that is. Veres sighed, his throat and lungs so scratchy he gave a few dry coughs for doing so, as the soul of the hollow filled him with new energy. It wasn't much though- he would need many souls, many more souls…

The hollows gave Veres no trouble whatsoever, their bodies dropping like flour sacks as he cut them down with fair ease, though he was nowhere near his prime- back when he could've quite literally cleared the entire room at a dead sprint without so much as brief stop, but it was still a good feeling as Veres found his body moving faster and faster with each fallen hollow as he paced down the hall, finding that stabbing them in the head worked a lot faster than trying to hack away at their bodies.

Finally, at the end of the halls, he found a ladder to the surface, and with considerable effort, he worked himself up until he collapsed at the top, dragging himself from the edge of the yawning pit as he rolled over on his back and rested. There were maybe a half dozen hollow prisoners he slew below, their souls giving him the power to move thus far, but the Asylum was enormous: built to hold hundreds of undead, it would be a while before he reached the end.

There was a tremendous crash far above the wanderer, Veres hearing the crushing of stones as the dust stirred and fell from the ceiling, fogging around a lantern as it shook on its chain. What weight could be so great as to shake the area like that, the wanderer had no idea, but he wasn't stupid.

He'd learned on his travels that of all things to take with you on a journey like this, the mind was the most important by far: careful observation of the environment and disturbances, seeing items of value and hidden enemies- that was the key to staying alive. He'd find what did that, and be prepared for it.

The wanderer got up from his resting place, walking out from the rotunda into a wide open courtyard, tall stone pillars supporting a second and third level of the prison. The light was blinding to him after so many years in the dark, Veres rubbing his wrinkled eyes as he wandered over the sparsely grassy ground, until his knee hit something in his half-blinded stupor. He squinted down, seeing a familiar pile of bones with a rusty strait sword embedded within, embers faintly trickling up from the undead remains. A bonfire, if you could call it something as polite as that.

Veres was very hesitant to touch the thing, but he figured that if he could at least change where he'd be spat out at upon death, which seemed inevitable at some point or another, it couldn't hurt.

He gingerly laid his hand upon the hilt, the bones flashing and sending up a waft of smoke as the bonfire reacted at the undead's touch- yearning for respite. As he did so- he felt something strange- the souls of his victims seeping into the fire, but as it intensified, its warmth sending jolts through the near-hollow wanderer's arms, he felt the essence seeping into him, the fire and undead, bearer of the curse and catalyst of the curst- becoming one as they fueled one another. The flames died down a little, the undead slumping with exhaustion.

But, even with the strain of supporting his new power, Veres felt a new strength in his arms, he swore his skin was slightly softer- his muscle slightly thicker. He reached a timid hand to his chest, realizing he could now feel his heart beating under the dust on his clothes for the first time in decades.

So, the bonfire craved souls as he craved souls: and if they were both satiated, he would become more human, more powerful. But- something nagged him. The souls made him feel stronger, less decrepit, but he still felt a malnourishment of the spirit.

* * *

The wanderer drifted off, gradually growing accustomed to warm and light, until he finally got to his feet- realizing he could stand with little trouble now, though everything felt very heavy on the wanderer and he was still a lot slower than he was in the prime days. But, Veres was free to walk, and knew that by feeding the fire he could nourish his soul, though the true connection between the two he didn't fully understand, just yet.

There were two ways forward from here: one was a great door at the top of some stairs ahead of him, the other was a path to the side, a secure iron gate that looked like it lead to the upper level, where the noise from awhile ago came. The wanderer advanced on the iron gate, but found it was locked tight, secured from the other side, so, with great reluctance, he went to the great, slightly blue tinted door, and heaved as he pushed it inward.

There was a low rumble as the gate slowly crept open on its hinges, the wanderer seeing a great, empty hall with grand marble pillars on either side- decorative urns and jars placed all across the crumbling stone floor as he stepped through the gap. This was no doubt the grand entrance- where new prisoners were brought in. Across the way was a giant iron door- in plain view.

Veres sensed something was off- this had to be the exit, at least if his instincts were right, but there were no guards, not even hollows to block his path. Something caught the wanderer's eye as he cautiously strode into the hall. Light radiated down from the ceiling, turning the whole floor shades of white and grey- but there was one spot that stood apart, were Veres realized there were three orange marks emblazoned on the ground. As he approached them, entranced as they flickered and bent under what looked almost like a mirage or wave of heat, they turned into jagged letters: Get Away!

The floor shook under the wanderer's feet, a crash like the sky falling, rocking his vision as a plume of dust flew past the wanderer's ankles. Veres looked over, frozen in his tracks as a roar filled the room, a creature leaning up from its rest.

It had bluish grey skin from head to toe, with a soft, greenish white underbelly like a lizard's- bulging garishly as it narrowed at the top with long, slender arms and a small, boxy head full of razor sharp teeth- horns coming from its head and all over its body around it's elbows and gimpy, but strong wings.

It was a demon- a true demon- not unlike those told in hellish legends, of a land shrouded in colorless fog. Before Veres couldn't react it charged forward, its arms bearing aloft a Warhammer as long as a house, as tall as the colossal form brandishing it. The wanderer barely dodged in time, leaping as fast as he could to the side and getting knocked back from the studded iron head, an explosion of force knocking the wind from him as the stones splashed around it: pulverized, the crackle of mortar filling the air as a gaping hole was blown in the floor, stones crashing into the basement below. The wanderer instinctually tucked and rolled to his feet and sprinted as fast as he could, the demon bringing his hammer up and working his stubby legs to turn and intercept the spry rogue, though Veres kept to his ankles and worked his eyes like lightning to find an escape. He was taught to stay close to a larger target to evade them- and this target certainly felt larger as he planted his feet and swung the hammer the opposite way, the wanderer diving to the side once more, the iron hammer sweeping past his ankle but missing Veres, who peered ahead to see an open doorway.

He ran faster than he ever had- before or after hollowing, looking back over his shoulder to see the Asylum Demon bringing its massive hammer down again- needing to dodge but had tucked himself too far to the ground- had too much momentum- he dove forward, arms outstretched for the door, until he was pinned to the ground, Veres shrieking in pain as the bones shattered like glass. The asylum demon lifted its hammer again, the mangled masses of torn flesh that were once his legs slowly dislodging from the studs. The wanderer thrust himself forward towards the doorway, now mere inches from his face, his arms clawing him forward though the effort was insane as the all the muscles, which'd barely even worked since imprisonment tore like old rags under his skin.

The demon took a hand off his hammer and reached down for him, working his tiny wings to balance as he leered in with an almost comical grin on his toothy maw. Veres worked even harder, his papery lungs almost failing as he went through the door towards the stairs. The demon reached on in and grabbed him, the wanderer feeling his hips getting crushed, the demon croaking as the dexterous rogue was gleefully immobilized.

In a blind fury, the wanderer's newly incensed soul reared up, Veres turning and stabbing the demon hard in his hand between the thumb and index finger, dragging it down and tearing the webbed skin between with a gush of blood, though his skin felt thick as lumber.

The demon let up a roar of pain- its hand involuntarily relaxing, letting Veres go. The wanderer clawed forward, for the thousandth time clutching life by the barest thread and finally rolling down the stairs on his side until the demon gave up, withdrawing his hand back up the stairway as it bumped the portcullis and dropped it.

All was quiet again as Veres looked forward, his vision clouding with deep black as he went into shock, but just ahead, in a room partly filled with the water leaking down from the walls and ceiling, was the familiar sight of a small pile of undead bones, a primal enchanted blade serving as a beacon to all the cursed. Veres was moving before he even knew what came over him, the battered wanderer creeping forward as fast as he could, though each time his ruined legs were jostled by a step, it drained him even more- until he was moving by the tips of his fingers towards the fire. He didn't have to live, he only had to activate it…

* * *

Veres, for perhaps the hundredth, maybe even the thousandth time, felt his soul being pulled from the ether, the nebulous fires around him spinning into a new body, accept- the fires seemed weaker all the time, the vessel turning out incomplete and decrepit, Veres opening his eyes and hauling himself up, only to fall back down as the strength he'd gathered from the souls left him. He looked over, praying that he wouldn't be in the courtyard- be doomed to try and pass the asylum demon once again, but, to his great joy- Veres saw his body slowly fading to ashes by the bonfire at the base of the stairs, reaching its hand out, the fingertips resting upon the blade with the flames welling around the bones.

He was deprived, but lucky. God-awful lucky. Veres begun to laugh a little to himself, hoping the hollowing process hadn't infected him too greatly. He'd almost forgotten was it was like to take an insane, certain death leap in the cramped, sterile little cell he was confined to all the time.

Veres saw his bloodstain- a charged pool resonating with the power of souls, flickering like snow in the crimson liquid. If he were to die again, the power of his blood would dissipate: he could touch it, but the power would be lost to him forever. But as for this time- Veres reached out and touched the stain, his fingers tickling a little as the souls drew to his touch like moths to a flame, flowing into him, strengthening him once more, until he was on his feet, stripping his armor and broken strait sword from the ashes of his now redundant body and placing it back on his person.

There was one way forward, now that the iron gate had sealed- and that was through the doorway at the end of the room. Veres pressed on, peeking out from the doorway, recoiling in shock as an arrow grazed the side of his face. He waited- nothing happened.

Veres peaked out from the doorway once more, this time much more cautiously, and saw he was in a back alley of the prison, of sorts: a steadily rising mound of earth between a wall and a row of prison cells, a hollow with a bow at the end slowly drawing back and firing. He was slow, though, and horrendously inaccurate, the wanderer easily tucking his head back into the doorway and watching in something erring towards amusement as the harmless wooden bolt bounced from the edge of the doorway, jumping back out and going a few steps before diving into a cell to his side and spotting an old leather shield sitting by a dead guard, the wanderer graciously reliving him of the thing since the he didn't really need it anymore.

Now armed with a shield, Veres stepped into the alley and advanced on the hollow archer full stride, the arrows making a hollow thwack on the shield as Veres skillfully knocked each blow aside with little problem. As he came close, he spotted the glint of metal on the ground- a cavalier, cocksure side of him he'd long had to ignore flaring up as he parried another arrow aside, rolling forward and grabbing the blade in hand, thrusting it forward as he rolled upright in one move. The blade tore through the base of the hollows throat, poking out the back of his head, the wanderer drawing it back and beheading him with one smooth swing.

He looked down at the body he'd looted from: the body of an undead with a few arrows stuck into him. It looked like he missed the shield, and tried to make a charge without a good defense. But still-

_So I'm not the only one_ Veres thought to himself, looking down on his new sword and grinning wide as a hyena. It was a scimitar- the kind of blade he absolutely adored, second only to the slashing blades of the east. It was light, fast, and sharper than a whetted razor on a bad day- and best of all. Veres started to spin the blade in his hand, feeling the honed, balanced sword dance gracefully around his wrist. The wanderer knew it wasn't flawless as he stripped the scabbard from the corpse and put it to his side, sheathing the blade.

It was ungodly sharp, but thin and brittle, already coated with battle scars and a ragged edge- it would need the hand of a highly advanced blacksmith to harden it against armor and tough skin- but such concerns would have to wait for now. Veres had a weapon he was familiar with, plus a shield he could handle rather easily, that was all that mattered right now.

The wanderer proceeded through a door at the top of the mound, stepping to the banister and looking down into the courtyard where he'd been just a little while ago, the door still yawning open- the frightfully strong asylum demon pacing about with its Warhammer over its shoulder in the main hall.

Veres, whose very name was once said to cut one's tongue if spoken, shivered. He was a strong man, and as he gathered souls a strong undead, but he didn't know if he was at all prepared to face such nightmarish things, with the world as it was.

He walked along, noticing another cell door with a shaft of light sweeping through the middle. The door to the cell was partly covered with rubble and bent, so it was hard to see inside, but, as Veres approached, he felt his newly beating heart skipping. The Astorian knight, the one who saved him just hours ago and gave his life new hope, was crumpled on a pile of rubble. He wasn't moving- and it looked almost like he wasn't breathing, his noble armor dented and raked by scars as it was jostled down from the ceiling, the crest on his breastplate torn away with studs of iron imbedded within. There was no way into the cell save the hole in the roof- and there was a crash like thunder awhile ago-

So, it was the asylum demon, no doubt putting an end to the knight's mission to help the other undead, though for what reason Vere's could only guess on. While the wanderer was hot tempered, and he felt a painful craving for souls to soothe his weakened body, seeing that proud knight crippled after what he did for the warrior gave him a pang of sorrow.

Veres moved on, trying not to think about it as he came to a stairwell- one set leading down to the backside of the iron door to the courtyard, the other leading up to where he hadn't been. True to his nature as a wanderer, as one who pushes forward regardless or snow, lightning, magic, enemies, armies, or even demons it would seem, Veres went for the path untaken, rounding the stone banister and slowly scaling the steps, eyes open wide and alert for an ambush, since he couldn't see the top of the steps and figured that even hollows had some level of reasoning.

Sure enough, a large, dark shape rolled over the peak, coming down with frightening speed, there was no-where to go, so the wanderer leapt from the stairwell down to the lower stairwell, the massive iron ball crashing through the wall above in a shower of old bricks while Veres landed in a way as to dissipate the fall through his sturdy old boots. The fall rattled him a little, but it was nothing too severe for him as he scaled the steps and saw the hollow, who'd so rudely kicked the ball down the steps, coming down at him with a broken strait sword, swinging it wildly as he plunged down the stairs. Veres smirked, bringing his shield up and letting the hollow careen into him, the wanderer brushing him to the side with the edge of his shield, the hollow's momentum carrying him a few steps before he found a scimitar plunged through the back of his heart, a second strike to the back of the neck putting him down for good, the dustball of his soul immediately rising up and entering Veres' chest. The wanderer smirked to himself, sheathing his scimitar when he saw the area was cleared for now. This was easy- too easy.

But… Veres frowned. There was still a demon in the hall- trying to fight him head on would be suicide, and Veres had just gotten used to having spare souls and walking strait. There had to be some way to gain the upper hand in this mess- there was no way forward for him unless that demon was dealt with. Then, a thought came to mind-

The wanderer looked into the cell, opened by a boulder crashing through the wall. Perhaps that knight had a special weapon or shield of some sort, one that could help fight the demon? Veres stepped into the dark, cool cell, the iron boulder resting against a pile of rubble as the wanderer's boots worked through the thin layer of water so common in this decaying place. As he drew closer, the ray from the ceiling casting an almost angelic glow on the noble knight, the wanderer again felt a pang of regret. He'd be rotting in his cell, doing nothing but hollowing if not for this man, to see him…

Veres' musings were cut off by a groan of pain, the knight's dented helmet creaking as he turned he towards the undead. He was alive- just barely- but alive afterall.

"Oh, you…" he rasped, almost quizzically, "You're no hollow, eh?" The wanderer wanted to answer, but found his voice is simply- gone, this hollowed throat unable to articulate even a low whisper, Veres merely watching as the dying knight took a breath, "Thank goodness… I'm done for, I'm afraid… I'll die soon, then lose my sanity…" he sighed, his helm slumping against the rubble, "I wish to ask something of you… you and I, we're both undead… hear me out, would you?" he pleaded. Veres could only nod, "Regrettably, I have failed in my mission… but perhaps you can keep the torch lit… there is an old saying in my family," he recalled nostalgically, "Thou who art undead art chosen, in thine exodus from Undead Asylum, maketh pilgrimage to the land of Ancient Lords. When thou ringeth the bell of Awakening, the fate of the undead thou shalt know." Upon saying that, the tension around him released, "well now you know…And I can die with hope in my heart… Oh, one more thing," he added hastily, "here, take this," he added, slowly reaching into his satchel and producing a large, jade flask: transparent enough to see glowing golden liquid sloshing around within, but opaque enough to make out a skull on its cover as Veres accepted the mysterious vessel, "…An Estus flask, an undead favorite… Oh, and this," he added again, drawing two keys from his side.

One was slender: a key for a cell door of sorts, the other enormous, certainly for something important as it was more of a small pronged rod than a key, "These will… open the path of the pilgrim, and the way to the third level... thou shalt…. Know what to do…" he rasped, fading quickly, "…Now, I must bid farewell… I would hate to harm you after death… So, go now…" the wanderer kindly left the knight, already burning up as his soul faded away. They'd never even learned eachother's names.

Perhaps, this was not the last time they would meet. But, for now, it didn't matter. Rage boiled within the wanderer as he placed the keys on his keychain, and tucked the Estus flask safely away in one of his satchels. That knight… Veres didn't understand what the curse truly was, or where it came from, he barely even remembered the ancient lords at this point, but he understood that the world was dying- it was already dying by the time he heard of it when he was yet human, and now he could only imagine how twisted the world was now that that much time had elapsed

The ancient lords- they _had_ to be responsible for this. While humanity withers away and darkness closes in, they sit back and do _nothing_. Veres made up his mind: he would uncover he curse of the undead, he would eradicate the hollows, and above all, he would avenge the undead like himself, who were left to die for nothing by the old lords. By the time Veres came to the top of the stairs, he was boiling with all the wrath he'd accumulated rotting in his cell, his hands shaking violently as he unlocked the door to the third level at the top of the stairs. He ran in, drawing his scimitar and raising his shield as a hollow archer looked to him.

The archer barely nocked an arrow before the wanderer was upon him, dodging around the arrow the instant it left the bow and lunging forward. The hollow went for its broken sword, but before he could draw, Veres sliced his arm clean off, cutting him cleanly in two with a second stroke. Another two hollows came at him from the side, the first swinging his blade wildly, only to be parried aside, his heart eating the tip of the scimitar. A second came at him from the side, Veres pulling the deprived to the side and shielding himself with the body. He removed his sword, letting the body fall and punishing the hollow that tried to strike him with a deep slash over the chest, before stepping in and driving his blade deep into the hollow's head. He fell alongside the other two hollows, Veres sneering contemptuously at them. He'd fought warriors with far greater skill and weapons long ago, so long as he kept his head, they couldn't lay so much as a scratch on him. But now…

Veres turned his attention to the asylum demon, which was still at ground level while the wanderer was at the top. _Thou shalt know what to do,_ he'd said, trusting his experience would give him the key. The wanderer came towards an open doorway, leading to a small balcony with the banister broken off- the asylum demon far below, stomping about and bellowing as the crash of his Warhammer marked another mangled undead that tried to pass him. Goddamn demon…

Veres _did_ know what to do, it was a warning he always heard: that on a narrow pass, the deadliest weapon was-

the wanderer charged forward full tilt, leaping from the balcony as he cleared the doorway, looking down on the asylum demon and angling himself to land just perfect. The demon looked up from his prey, an almost dumfounded expression flashing on his scaly brow as Veres fell on him with a warcry. The demon bellowed as the wanderer's scimitar tore through the front of the demon's face, gouging an eye, Veres thrusting his whole body down to drag the blade down his face, bracing his feet on the creature's collar bone and pulling out. The Asylum demon roared and staggered deliriously, dropping his Warhammer and reaching a hand up to swat the wanderer off his face, Veres dropping and rolling off, the demon smashing himself in his wounded eye. Veres laughed like mad, thrusting his scimitar into the creature's hide and letting his momentum pull him down as the wanderer spiraled across his hide, blood pouring from the savage wounds until the wanderer was dropped off the front of the creature's bulbous stomach. He hit the ground at a roll, dissipating the shock over himself and sprinting around the demon's flank while he staggered, clutching his head and limping about. He had thin, muscular reptilian legs, their joint at eye level, Veres thrusting his scimitar into the creature's knee and dragging it around, another quick swipe severing the Achilles tendon.

The leg folded like paper, Veres leaping to avoid the behemoth as it toppled, its little wings working to try and support it, even managing to lift the demon from the ground, but they tired fast, the demon falling back to the ground on his arse, and when he tried to rise, he toppled like a balloon as his now gimp leg failed to support his boated form. His wings beat the ground as he tried to fly again, but that only nudged him over more, the demon rolling onto his back and kicking his tiny arms and legs like a turtle. Veres ran to the helpless creature, feeling insane with glee as the mighty "demon" flopped around helplessly, looking over at the wanderer in rage as he made beeline for his head, now barely arm's reach away. He had him- he had him-

The wanderer was yanked from the ground as one of the demon's deceptively short arms managed to reach over and grab him by the stomach again, Veres hacking at his hand, only to find the blade was completely blunted after tearing through such thick hide- the slick, bloodstained blade whittled to half its old thickness. The demon felt no pain from the blows, reaching his other arm up and grasping the wanderer firmly by the chest, squeezing. Veres let up a yelp, the demon's grasp slowly crushing his bones and organs as he tightened. If only- hadn't been so- let his guard down-

The demon's grip loosened, the beast shouting in pain as a heavy arrow embedded itself in his wrist, exploding moments afterward as the charcoal pine resin ignited. Veres was dropped from his grip, scrambling from the creature's chest and glancing over to the door-

A figure was standing with a bow and arrow, already nocking another arrow, dripping with resin, another figure running in from behind her, and another, and then another. Veres retreated as a figure clad in heavy armor made a loud chink, clack, chink, clack, chink, clack on the ground as he ran for the demon, the behemoth finally elbowing the ground and rolling over onto his feet, getting up and cocking a fist back to strike. An arrow struck his eye, bursting in fire and leaving the behemoth wailing and blinded, clutching his ruined eyes as the warrior ran in and impaled him in the stomach, his great claymore driving far in before being withdrawn with incredible grace for such a big weapon. The demon's fist came around as he hunched over, the warrior turning with his greatshield and taking the blow, a bang sounding as he was knocked back, rolling to his feet with ease despite his heavy mail.

"Tis but the bite of a fly!" he bellowed in a hearty Catarina accent, the demon turning towards his voice, only to be struck in the head yet again by a burning arrow, the asylum demon limping towards the doorway as a maiden in dingy, ragged yet elegant dress shook a rack of bells, the air sparking with static as she nodded her head in prayer and looked to the sun. A figure swept from the shadows, her knives tearing into the back of the demon's functional leg, sending him toppling forward once again-

"Sunlight Spear!" the maiden cried, the light around her flashing into a great arch of lightning, soaring straight and true into the demon's chest, the behemoth crying as it was knocked backwards under the force of the impact, his whole body convulsing with energy. He fell to his back, nearly collapsing the floor, struggling a moment, before an ironclad warrior dove forward in a two handed thrust into the back of the demon's head, the monster going still, slowly crackling until it violently exploded into ashes, its energy blowing through the room as its spirit escaped, condensing into a dense ball that gradually settled near the floor. A demon soul, with a power beyond imagination.

Veres crept forward, thirsting as he saw the incredible mass of power pulse softly in the air, bubbling with untapped power as the other warriors gathered.

"Here," a voice said, the wanderer jumping a little as the shrouded figure threw him a small leather bag. Veres opened it, a glow of gold shinning out, "Mystic powder," she explained in a slow, dark voice, the wanderer smiling at the fact she was clearly of Carim, like him, "pour it onto any part of thine weapon, and it will seep into the cracks and restore its condition to a previous state. Tis' very fragile, and will fade quickly so use it with care, and do not remove it from the bag unless you wish to use it." the wanderer nodded his thanks, pouring the golden powder across the blade, and watching as the fine gold dust did indeed seep into the blade, patches glowing over it as the cracks warped and fused shut, the eroded blade making a metallic grind as the ragged edge cracked open like an egg with new blade pushing out. In moments, the sword was not only repaired after the fight with the demon, but restored to prinstine- the flawless steel shining in the dim hall, "So, who art thou?" the rogue asked with cool curiosity. Veres frowned, putting his hood down to reveal his hollowed, decayed face as he tried to speak, but only tore up his lungs as his leathery throat constricted. Her eyes went wide under her darkened hood, "Thou art hollow?" Veres nodded, "Yet thy sword still struck at the asylum demon?" Veres smirked, nodding again. The rogue backed off a little.

"Lilith," one of her companions called, "We are in need of thee, and you too!" she added, pointing to Veres. The two came over, to where the demon soul was gently bobbing in the air, waiting to be claimed. Unlike regular hollow souls, demon souls couldn't be simply sucked up, like fog, rather, it was a bubble of concentrated energy that when broken released its power, otherwise it slept. But, who would be the one to break it? The question went from Veres' head to the bowmen, eyeing it greedily:

"So, what shalt we do about this?" Lilith, who seemed to be the leader of the group, thought to herself on that,

"Well, souls go the native of their realm, or the one who vanquishes the demon."

"Well, I blinded it with my bow," the bow huntress said, "I think it would be fair too-"

"Ah, but it was I who finished it off!" the knight of Catarina declared jubilantly, "Just imagine what mine sword could do with a demon's soul!"

"But," Lilith interceded, "Do not forget it was this wanderer who partly blinded the demon and heavily injured his left leg. The demon was crippled- and weaponless- by the time we entered." They all got funny looks, glancing at the wanderer, who'd failed to put his hood up,

"A hollow?" the bow huntress said, reaching for her arrow,

"Calm thineself, Aerie." Lilith growled, "Hollow he may be, but he was rescued alongside ourselves, and seems to be quite placid, though he may not look it now." The wanderer nodded in agreement, Aerie reluctantly putting her arrow back while the knight clapped,

"Yes, and a fine fighter he is, as well, and he hasn't even restored his humanity! I would relish a demon's soul, but I believe it is he who should receive it, he would be a splendid ally."

"That's funny, hearing thy tongue speaketh that way." Aerie said again, uncomfortably shifting her clothes to hide a decayed spot on her neck, "he was reckless: he ran in without so much as one companion and let his guard down at the last moment. I say had he slewn the demon himself, he would receive it. Otherwise, one of us should get it."

"Are you forgetting, Aerie," Lilith replied, "we were all near hollow until we found humanities amongst the deeper parts of this prison, and none of us knew on another until by chance meeting. We undead have no allies in this world, not even death. We have only one another: the moment we fail to appreciate that is the moment we lose ourselves." The group was quiet at that, the cleric twiddling her thumbs and facing the ground as she hid under her once elegant maiden's robe, "And besides, we have a bigger problem," she added, looking towards the colossal iron door beyond the remnants of the asylum demon, "If we can't find the key to that door, no-ones getting out of here- the fall from the roof would be lethal and there's nothing closer to the ground. That knight from before, he had to get in somehow, he must have a key." Veres hung his head, drawing the heavy pilgrim's key from his side, the mood sobering, even the Catarina knight had nothing to say, "I see. Then the demon hast taken him. Were you there?" the wanderer nodded, his muteness driving nails over his back as he wished to speak, even so much as a word. But he'd have to become more human first, "then that settles it," Lilith parted way for him, "Brave wanderer, please, claim the soul of this demon- consider it payment for clearing the way, and off all of us, you need it the most." Veres smiled, she was icy, but at least she had a good heart. Much to Aerie's frustration, the wanderer stepped forward, reaching his hand over the soul- ten times the size of his fist, and tore it at the edge, crushing it.

The power that washed over him was beyond his comprehension- thousands- tens of thousands of times more potent than the hollows below, feeling strength burn through his body head to toe, the fog of hollowing at the edges of his conscious driven away as the cascade of flowing energy entered him, seeping through his old coat. When it was gone, the undead cracked his neck, stretching his limbs as a tiny sprite materialized from the last vapors of the soul. It looked like a minuscule black figure with a wreath of white and two little glowing eyes. Aerie went red:

"A humanity?" she growled. Veres reached out and took it, the tiny thing sitting in his fingers feeling like the softest of foam or silk, but packed with a feeling near nostaligia-

"_Hu- man-ity_?" Veres gravelly voice crunched out, the demon soul softening his skin a little,

"Yes," The Catarina knight declared, "If thou doth not know what it is, thine absence from the world must be quite a really long time." He laughed, "Crush it in thine hand to squeeze its essence from it, then drop it into the fires, and it shall restore your body to a state of living."

"But be warned," Lilith added, "Each time thine life ends, thou shalt hollow further. A single humanity can restore what was lost, but there are very few humanities, and many, many deaths that await thee in the land of ancients." She shivered, "I hath seen a little of what hath happened in Lordran and the rest of the world. Chaos demons, who savagely destroy all undead who should wander into their dominion. Hollowed soldiers by the legion, Lord Gwyn's faithful knights, but husks of their old selves roving about. Phantom's from world's far beyond ours, each with power beyond comprehension that may striketh thee without warning or mercy. I pray thee tread lightly, and be wary of everything around thee. I would hate to see thee go hollow." The wanderer nodded,

"_I shalt-_" he replied, the group seeing him off. He would have to remember that he was not alone, else he _would_ die over and over again, and he _would_ lose his souls. It left a knot in his chest, how could he pray to find an undead to help when he needed it? But, as was always the only answer Veres had was to move forward, passing the gate of the pilgrim. He scaled a long, rocky path, a part of the great prison annihilated by age and decay.

How many years had been? 100yrs? 500yrs? 1000yrs? He had no way to know, but as he advanced to the end of the rocky path, leading him to a vista where there were nothing but misty mountains as far as the eye could see, there was a flutter of wings- sent by an old friend, it would seem. He was terrified as the thing swept him off his feet, its great talons digging into his coat as he was whisked away. But, eventually the wanderer relaxed, watching the land pass beneath him as he was carried to a place far away, through the mountains and over the rivers. To the mythical land of Ancient lords, Lordran…

To be continued…


	2. Firelink Shrine

Holy hell, eight views for chapter one in a day? But seriously, I am honored that you would pick me up so quickly and will try my hardest to keep hammering out my best work, because hopefully you haven't seen the best I can do just yet. Once again, a hearty thank you to Alone in the Blight for inspiring me to write again and giving me such bloody awesome ideas which will appear and be credited as quickly as I can manage, and another thank you to ParagonEmil, who helped me catch some flaws in my style that will hopefully be fixed and make my work even better. I've genuinely found a new reason to love writing in this fic and I hope you all enjoy it. And, guess who's getting a detailed personality and spotlight in this story. I'll give you a hint, he's one of my favorite Souls characters and he may not be who you expect...

Once again, we find our fiery hero Veres learning how to cope with being undead as he pursues the faintest of hopes there's a remedy for the curse- though he's far from alone in his struggle as he prepares his body and mind to the journey into the deadly Undead Burg…

* * *

All was quiet, save the beating of the great crow's wings as Veres flew towards the capital of the gods, Lordran. As the wanderer was brought over mountains, rivers, deserts, and plains. The vast majority of the flight was spent staring into the little humanity sprite- the wanderer unwilling to burn it at the asylum. He wanted out of that place- before everything else he wanted out of that place, and leave all ties to it behind.

It was evil, though, ironically, Lilith warned that the Asylum was nothing compared to Lordran, where he was escaping to. Easy enough to figure: if it was the capitol of the gods, there were sure to be more than a few creatures and guards nestled around.

Veres put those thoughts to rest for awhile, lest he despair and lose his way. The world was hollowing- finding somewhere to hide would do nothing to change that. And dying wouldn't fix anything- because that was the problem: that he couldn't stay dead more than a few minutes or hours before simply got spat back out. He'd already discovered, based off the hollows he'd killed, that a hollow has just enough souls to move and attack, though he loses himself and his mind. A hollow that dies and losses his last soul dies completely: no more resurrection, no more pain. But doing so requires death upon death upon death, only to hollow and go mad.

That was the true madness: if you were perfectly willing to hollow, you could drag out a miserable existence until pain and madness envelop everything, but you could finally die afterwards. But there was always a temptation to evade that, to feel alive and young, and go on living, only to die and be a step closer to hollowing at once point or another.

If the curse was designed to make people chase impossible hopes and be crushed under ultimate humiliations and defeats until the person was but a mad dog, than it was working brilliantly.

That was why the wanderer couldn't turn back as the great bird flew him to Lordran. Veres put the humanity in his satchel, latching it securely as the crow adjusted its talons as not to cut him, and drifted off to sleep.

He was falling- Veres snapping his eyes open as the crow did a great swoop down into unfamiliar lands, the wanderer calming from his sudden wake-up call. His breath was taken aback as he viewed the scenery below him: an unimaginably large wall stretching around the region- around a city with buildings so numerous and small from up here it looked more like a grey sea rising and falling across the landscape, the exterior of the walls bare and faded with age as they warded away the empty lands that likely held even more cities and civilization. Then again, Lordran was more than the capitol of the city, but the capitol of the entire world. Back when there was a world, that is.

As the crow circled down, the wind rushing past the undead's face as his stomach dropped with the momentum, he noticed a grand building with a prominent bell tower standing proudly at the highest terrace in the city, a ways away. Then, the cathedral was obscured by leaves, the wanderer passing through a dense vale of greenery as they circled what had to be a legendary archtree, rooted in a mire of- was that- brownish sludge far, far below in a sort of canyon between the outmost wall and one of the crests the old city was built on.

The undead got dizzy looking down the trunk of the archtree, which stood taller than the landscape below, even taller than the defensive walls which all but swallowed the horizon, leaving only a small shaft of midmorning light passing through the embrace of the tree's boughs, shattering into a collage of flickering colors and shadow.

It felt tranquil, here, a sort of serenity passing over the wanderer as the crow slowed, drawing close to a massive ruins at the base of the acropolis with the cathedral shining upon it. It was then Veres noticed the buildings cropping up- the walls of the ruin little more than pillars and piled framework, a hollow watchtower down to part of its last moss encrusted wall- but nestled down in the decay were tents and makeshift shanties of all kinds, the unmistakable tinge of burning pine resin wafting up to him through the mostly pure air.

A town, a rather nice town at that. _No doubt founded by the countless undead, seeking answers_, Veres thought as he the crow reached the ground. The talons released on his shoulder, the wanderer getting jostled as he hit the dirt, his heavy boots digging in as he fell to a stop. In a flutter of black, the crow flew upwards, soaring up the watchtower to perch, twitching his head back and forth and ruffling his feathers as he rested from the long journey. Beat the hell outta' foot-walking, so thanks for that much, Velka.

Veres was almost afraid he'd die again from the trip, deteriorate from the crow's grip and return to the asylum, but luckily the power of the demon's soul held him over more than long enough. In fact- the wanderer looked about, almost immediately spotting a bonfire to strengthen himself. Plenty of other undead were around- the almost alien sound of conversation rising into the air as undead of all imaginable kinds milled about from fire to fire, tent to tent.

Some were in the later stages of hollowing, other's appearing almost- human, with soft, beautiful skin and the radiance of soul energy all around them. Veres caught himself staggering forward, involuntarily reaching for his scimitar and redirected himself towards the vacant bonfire ahead, taking advantage of the calm as it gently hummed and crackled in the cratered area.

_Now that's a bonfire_ the wanderer thought as it overflowed with Estus, a wreath of bright orange sweeping around the blade. Veres reached into his satchel, removing the precious humanity with as delicate as touch as he could as the flames lapped at his legs.

He had only one- maybe even the last one, if he wasn't careful or lucky, so he had to make it count. It let up the gentlest of small sighs as it crumpled in his fingers, turning into a dense, mercurial slug of cold that rolled lazily across his hand, yet was so light it danced in the fire's radiance until it finally spiraled down and ignited, the undead clasping the hilt of the primal blade and directing his souls into it once more.

The fires blew up around him, his body getting doused with pure energy as the humanity catalyst exploded into a black aura that swallowed the orange of the flames, the heat of the fires getting replaced by cold- by dark- yet the wanderer felt an affinity to it- almost a yearning as the demon soul within him poured over the humanity and turned the fire from black to a deep blue, the fire getting scalding, burning hot as the essence poured from the fire back into Veres- pressing on him like arid water as the undead wrenched his hand on the blade to steady himself.

Finally, the energy of the souls was spent one more, Veres hunkering down to rest while his body adapted to the power pressed within him.

Then- he realized he actually felt- he felt the wind on his face- the comforting heat of the fire- the clothes on his skin more than ever- more than he remembered in his lifetime. The wanderer, with trembling fingers, pulled a dusty glove from his hand, his jaw going slack.

His bony, knobby fingers were swelling up, veins pressing out as the uncomfortable sensation of strong blood under the skin came. He felt the strain of muscles bulging under the skin, the knobs of bone disappearing as the joints unclenched and straitened, his papery flesh softening and growing sensitive and twitchy, Veres watching as the grey blues and yellows turned to softer greys. Then, to a soft, pale white as his hands bent and clenched uncomfortably, but rapidly grew accustomed to the flowing humanity and at long last fell still.

He couldn't even recognize his own breathing- calm and even as his throat finally started flexing and letting air into his lungs. His tongue wetted and licked at the cottony lining of his mouth as he stroked his soft, pale human cheeks once more- afraid this was a dream.

He'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be alive. Sadly, no sooner did he feel alive did he start feeling filthy dirty, the coat he'd soiled with his dead body uncounted many times smelling like absolute death as the air touched on his exposed skin- the seams unspooling with the leather so stiff if crackled like rice with each movement of his breath, the filth coating the inside of clothes feeling unbearable as it slid over his skin. His thoughts were interrupted by a small laugh, sad and broken, the wanderer looking up from his new body to a man he hadn't noticed before.

There was something eerily entrancing about the chainmail-clad figure watching Veres with unfathomably cold, deep eyes rimmed with sleepless lines, dark as hemlock ink that matched his short, motley hair.

"_Well_, what do we have here?" he mused, his voice edging on satire "You must be a new arrival- let me guess: fate of the undead, right?" Veres' quills drew out,

"Yes."

"Well- you're not the first. But there's no _salvation_ here." He smirked, frowning again, "You would've done better to rot in undead _asylum_. _But_, too late now." The intensity passed, the crestfallen man giving a long, sad sigh, "well, since you're here, let me help you out. There are _actually_- two- bells of _awakening_. One's up above in the _Undead_ church- the other's far, _far_ below- in the ruins at the base of _Blighttown_." He leered, smirking again, "Ring them both- and something happens." He cocked his head, little more than a basic expression of amusement in his voice, "Brilliant, right? Not much to go on, but I have a _feeling_ that won't stop you- So off you go. That is why you came, isn't it? To this _accursed _land of the undead?" he laughed humorlessly. Veres felt his fists clenching.

Cocky bastard-

"And," The wanderer growled, feeling the tremendous pleasure of speaking once more, "Where is this 'Blighttown', hmm?"

"What? You want to hear more?" he retorted, "Oh that's all we need: another inquisitive soul," Veres clenched his teeth,

"I'd be terribly interested to hear where I need to go, _yes_."

"Well listen carefully, then:" he replied tersely, "One of the bells is up above, in the Undead Church- _but_ the lift is _broken_." he explained, gesturing to the plateau above, "You have to climb the stairs _up_ the ruins, and access the Undead _Burg_ through the waterway." He motioned, Veres looking far beyond the ruins to a great aqueduct leading from the mountain to the outer wall of the city, "the other bell is back down _below _the Undead Burg- within the plague infested Blighttown. But I'd die again before I stepped foot in that _cesspool_." He cackled, Veres finally stepping in,

"I'm glad you find this conversation so gaddamn hilarious, because I don't!" he snapped. The crestfallen stopped, locking eyes with him a moment, before passing himself off with another round of laughter,

"Oh, _I_ get it," he mused, "You're one of those. Tarkus- Logan- Rendell- that hoity _toity _cleric and all the other undead that believe they can somehow _spirit_ the world away from all its woes." He laughed, "The legendary heroes of old _all _left to unravel the fate of the undead, and none of them _came back_. What are you going to do? I've already decided, I am simply- _crestfallen_." The wanderer dismissed him,

"Well, have fun being crestfallen, I have a mission." The crestfallen only watched as Veres left, wrapped up in his sorrows.

* * *

Vere's was officially out of his element. Having to watch out for people walking by him, or step around to avoid people standing around was something he simply couldn't hold himself to do, the wanderer excusing himself as he bounced undead to undead, struggling to try and hold his temper at all the people that cursed at him along the way. But, he couldn't entirely blame them since he was in desperate need of a bath, and even from a distance Veres looked all but hollow in his raggedy armor and aggressive stance, a few reaching for their swords before realizing he was still half sane.

But, traversing the settlement, born from a single powerful bonfire, a beacon to all the undead who would try to delay their hollowing was a necessary evil.

He may've been human for now, but the wanderer was far from ready to set out for Undead Burg, and, eventually, the Parish. He needed all his equipment- save his shining scimitar- to be extensively repaired and reinforced, he needed survival tools, cured food and water- since he started feeling hunger and sickening dehydration again- and above all, he needed a good amount of sleep and rest, as not to tax his body now that he'd just gotten fixed up. Leaving on a full stomach with plenty of sleep would increase his effectiveness greatly, though he hadn't a shilling to his name to purchase the meats and vegetables around him, several pens corralling all manner of animals captured in the rural district of the dead capital.

At least that's what he thought, until he realized how many people were drawing a piece of their spirit, a foggy orb of of white, from the core of their chest and handing it to the merchants in varying amounts.

_Suppose it's easier than hunting hollows_, Veres thought to himself, though that tidbit didn't help him at all since he would be a buyer- who _did_ have to harvest souls from the source, and would likely need to buy quite often to keep his supplies up. That lead to another risk, he realized: What would happen if he were to die and lose his items and souls far, far from a bonfire? He could lose every last item, every last soul in one swoop, then be unable to recover them since even a fighter like Veres couldn't very well beat the shuffling bastards barefisted.

But, that was a risk he had to take- he'd just have to _not_ die, or maybe keep a reserve of equipment at his disposal? Veres laughed to himself a little: a simple trip to the church, and here the wanderer was calculating it like it was a goddamn military campaign. But, a city that large had to have plenty of guards roaming around, and he doubted they'd be friendly.

Finally, Veres found a stand piled with old fabrics, needles stabbed into a saggy brown pincushion with tweed thread still trailing from the eye. Immediately, the wanderer caught sight of what he was looking for: thick, canvas-like fabric of several weaves that would be light but strong if layered right and folds of tough hides that could be cured into leather, so long as the seamstress behind the counter had the skill. More than enough to restore his armor- maybe even make a spare set or two as long as he had enough souls to bargain with. He wasn't the best haggler there was, but at least he wouldn't be asking for the most expensive armor out there.

"Excuse me, miss?" Veres growled, hoping his gruff, deep voice wouldn't startle her too much, "I am in need of a few spare sets of armor, and the one I wear now needs a good going over." She looked up from her work, her pudgy eyes growing a little before she smiled it off,

"Well now, fresh from the asylum, aren't you?" The wanderer nodded,

"Yes, I restored my humanity just this morning- I'm going to make a run on the Parish, and I need new armor and a few spares, if you don't mind." She nodded, keeping her eyes on a piece of fabric as she continued to weave,

"Tis' been awhile since someone passed the Asylum Demon, I was starting to think I'd never see a new face, I'll tell you what- you bring me plenty of souls, and I can make you a fine set of armor to protect your hide: you stay alive long enough to gather souls for me, and I help keep thee alive awhile longer. Tis a fine trade, no?" The wanderer nodded,

"Yes, that arrangement is reasonable enough. Where can I gather souls without going into the Burg? While you craft my armors, that is. Also, can you direct me to a blacksmith, I may need to sharpen this sword."

"_Oh_," she chastised, "without a doubt: not one person has penetrated the Burg and reached the Undead Parish, not even our advance force. But, blacksmithing has become somewhat of a lost art with all the hollows and undead about, it will be quite a chore to find a weapon-smith of any kind. But," she added, looking up from her sewing, "If thine desire is to hunt hollows until thouest may properly equip thineself, speak with Viringisha. He lingers on the edge of this little sanctuary, organizing undead into a sort of- volunteer militia: there are thousands- no- tens of thousands of hollows within the Burg, across the city. They mostly leave us alone, following their old patrols but a few wonder outside through the waterways. Keeping this place safe is a noble enough goal, and if thine care isn't for nobility, thine interest will certainly be aroused by the fact you can keep every last soul you may get from thine kill, until you have enough to try for the Burg, if thou art foolhardy enough to try."

"As for finding a smith?"

"hmm," she thought, "I'm not sure, but there are plenty outside the militia that've gone on alone- no telling what they may have found so it would be best to open thine ears and listen for any rumors floating about." The wanderer smiled his thanks,

"Much obliged to you, I'll bring you souls as soon as I can."

"I'll be here, love!" She waved as Veres headed off towards the edge of town. Searching for this "Viringisha."

* * *

On the outskirts of town, where the rabble died down, Veres started to feel more comfortable, almost forgetting the tranquility of walking alone. He looked over to a well, a body slumped over the rim left to rot, which did little to help the wanderer's appetite as his stomach groaned. He's need to get new souls soon, so he could afford a decent meal and fresh water. Starving to death again was not something he was interested in doing.

Someone caught his attention, standing by the cliffside with an intense, quiet gaze towards down the defensive wall, to what looked to be a bridge embedded in the wall, until the wanderer thought better and realized it was a large aqueduct. The dune walker was fairly modest appearance wise- with heavy, loose-fitting robes and armor plates that'd faded with age and grinding sand, a thin layer of beige rippling as he stood in the wind, deep in contemplation. The eastern fighter turned his head towards Veres, though the wanderer was still a ways a way.

"_Don't sneak up on me_." He growled in a long, even voice, Veres quickening his pace to reach him, the dune walker going back to watching the aqueduct with sharp, hawk-like eyes "If you're looking for 'Viringisha', I am he. If thine wish is to battle the hollows that haunt these lands, you may at thine own peril. If thine desire is answers to thine questions, I will not answer." he murmured mechanically, "Now, off with you- I have an important post to hold."

"Against what?" Veres wondered aloud, peering into the empty distance. The dune walker gave no response beyond shifting his twinblade- a heavy staff of bronze headed by two ragged falchions- a little to the right as he focused on a group heading down the way. Viringisha poised himself, watching as they came closer- some limping, others carrying the wounded towards over their backs, all of them with various degrees of hollowing and wounds as they bounced along the debris littering the ruins. The wanderer started towards them, grabbing his scimitar just in case, Viringisha doing the same, though it quickly became apparent they were little threat with their armor ragged and weapons all but fractured under the force of- something- Veres'd never seen a blade gouged as deeply as theirs.

"What happened?" the dune walker growled, stopping short as he assessed them.

"Black knight." One of them whimpered, "We- we thought- it was so fast."

"Where's Jakan?" One of them sobbed, hanging her head,

"He made a run on the bonfire, we all did- but it- it followed us, knew exactly where we were. It just stood there and waited for us to resuscitate- we couldn't even defend ourselves! He hollowed, the rest of us managed to keep running past, till' we got divided and slipped away." the dune walker frowned through his eyes,

"How many times did I tell you- black knights aren't hollows. They're not even mortal." He growled, "If thine eyes catch one anywhere near, you run. I don't care if there's a bonfire nearby or a path straight ahead, you wait till it passes. This is exactly the kind of behavior that gets thineself killed- for good." He growled, brushing his fingers over a large, faintly glowing bag at his side.

"We're sorry." They all pleaded, the dunewalker calmly withdrawing to his watch.

"There's nothing to be done, now. Get thee to a fire- and quickly. After so many deaths, thou art asking to hollow." He growled. One of the undead- especially close to hollowing stood, heading towards the dune walker. Veres sensed a fight- but the undead broke off- staggering along.

"The livin' dead man- he's right, _you_ know?" he half laughed, stepping towards the edge, "We're all dead, anyhow. Therees n' hope '_ere_." He laughed, disappearing over the side as he stepped into empty air. His voice faded, the wanderer watching the other undead heading away. Veres cleared his throat,

"I know you hate idle conversation- but I really must ask, what exactly is a black knight?" to his surprise, Viringisha answered:

"I am yet foreign to these lands, but we all know the legends: back when the dragons were around, the knights were rallied by Lord Gwyn and the other lords with the souls of the fire. When the dragons were gone, they went about as royal guards, then when the demons came, they became demon slayers," he sighed, a look of empathy crossing his eye, "Now, they're nothing, naught but hollow suits of burnt armor- their souls pulling them about like marionettes. As I said- don't bother trying to fight them, they're beyond you."

"I'll be careful, then."

"Hmph." The dune walker returned to his silence, Veres heading towards the aqueduct as the pain in his stomach grew. Obviously, he was wrong to assume the trip would be nothing but brittle little hollows: there were likely more demons- and now black knights, too. Thankfully, Veres wasn't heading to the Burg, just yet, so he focused on gathering souls.

* * *

There was nothing special to comment on, going around the outskirts. He stayed far from the aqueduct, but kept a keen eye out for anything unusual.

The pickings were easy, as it were: the hollows were drawn to the Firelink shrine (the name of the fire, it seemed) and the soul energy of the gathered undead like moths to a flame, and with so many denizens of the dead city, Veres could wake up every morning to a new wave of hollowed citizens shuffling along, only to meet the blade of Veres and the rest of the militia.

After a short few weeks, Veres had gathered everything he needed to set out- the wanderer storing a canteen of (mostly) purified water and several rations in a knapsack at his belt, since he was fairly sure he wouldn't get to visit Firelink for awhile and would need to take care of himself, the master key strung on the other hip if there were any valuables to be had.

The wanderer laced his boots, buttoned his coat and slid his hood over his head, still wishing he had more weaponry as he stroked the edge of his ragged scimitar- curling his lip.

He loved his sword, but the damn thing burned up faster than oily paper.

"Don't you ever think to forge your weapons?" The crestfallen chastised, "Perhaps you haven't heard of Andre?"

"Andre?"

"Visit him in the old church, in the forest behind the _undead _church. You really need to find him, unless you enjoy swinging about with blunt instruments." He laughed.

"I'll look into that," Veres smirked, sheathing his scimitar once more, "I'm going out. I suppose you'll be here, then?"

"Oh, but so will _you_- when you die at the _front gates_." The crestfallen smirked condescendingly, "But then again, reality _never _bothers you heroic types, does it?"

"We'll see." The wanderer replied, heading away with his fresh armor and supplies.

The break was fun while lasted, but to be honest- it got a little boring being out of the heat, and the hollows shambling at the edges were hardly good exercise.

Time to see if this "Undead Berg" was as bad as they said it was.

-To be continued

* * *

Post note: While the character Viringisha is original, the dunewalker class was created by Alone in the Blight as part of "Dark Thoughts" and was used with permission. Please credit authors you draw inspiration from :3


	3. Undead Burg Part I

A/N: Yes, I know the last chapter was pretty slow and was a MAJOR departure from the events of the game, but it was a necessary evil and I hope it doesn't deter anyone from enjoying the story. I'd also like to apologize for the delayed update- exam reviews have been murdering me the past two weeks and I've spent considerable time contributing to Our Dark Thoughts hosted by Alone in the Blight. If you do not know what that is, you should seriously check it out as it has become a social hub of collaboration in the community and a lot of the content is killer and well worth a view. I've decided to split this chapter into a few parts (I can't give an exact number yet) because a lot happens, I'm lazy and don't want to write it all in one sitting, and I do not want to keep my faithful three followers waiting forever for the release of this chapter :3

* * *

After some time of preparation and soul reaping, Veres ventures into Undead Burg, the former population center of Lordran, hoping to cross the deadly urban environment and reach the Parish- a feat assumed to be near impossible by the undead refugees- though he quickly finds himself pushing the upper limit of his near immortality…

Warning: many, many graphically violent scenes ahead, if you take exception to that, please find a happy story of daisies and rainbows and not report me to the scary administrators as I do not wish to be banned :3

* * *

Veres scaled the long, narrow stairs along the cliff, trying to stop himself from looking down the rocky face to the valley far, far below, little more than a faint line of murky brown that had to be "Blightown", broken only by the occasional arch holding the gap open, like the earth was trying to close its mouth again. The wanderer found himself teetering towards the edge and had to force himself away.

Undead or not, he was sure a fall hundreds of feet into the pestilent soup wouldn't be good for his health, the wanderer turning his attention to the steady drum of his feet on the crumbling stone steps. This wasn't the time to piss around in his head, now was the time for battle.

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind did he reach the top of the steps, met with a flat outcropping and some hollows that wanted to say hello.

Veres assessed his environment rapidly- the multitiered aqueduct just ahead, the door in the side of the closed-in channel opening to a walkway for maintenance, the walk leading down a set of stairs to a higher outcropping, then down more stairs to his outcropping, a few hollows turning his direction and watching him with their slack-jawed, yearning look as they sensed the souls coursing through the wanderer's veins, though they hadn't left their post yet.

"_Well_" Veres muttered to himself, striding forward and hearing the pleasant sound of ringing metal as he drew his scimitar, "_no sense waiting for a written invitation_"

The first hollow jumped him- literally as he launched from the ground with his broken strait sword held high, the wanderer diving to the side with his arm out, catching the hollow's throat in the crook of his arm and flipping him into the ground, his sharpened eyes darting to the flank as the second one came-

He threw his sword about wildly, letting up a bestial shot as he flailed it towards the wonderer trying to step around him. As he lunged, the wanderer ducked with his leg darting out, sweeping the hollow's feet from under him. then, his eye caught movement, a third hollow more falling than jumping down the side of the stairs, recovering and running in fast. _At this rate I'll be swamped-_ Veres glanced over his shoulder, finding one of the hollows he dropped had gotten to his feet and was charging him full speed, the hollow from the stairs running in from the other side.

The wanderer took the one behind him, the wanderer stepping past his feral lunge and grabbing him by the wrist, jerking him off his feet and using his running momentum to launch him at the incoming hollow. They both toppled, the wanderer counting the third and seeing him running from the side erratically, the wanderer intercepting his downward slash with the scimitar and directing it around him, Veres headbutting the hollow hard at the bridge of the nose as he blundered forward.

The wanderer had a thick skull, the hollow staggering back as he dropped his weapon only to get beheaded with the flash of a polished steel blade. That left two-

The wanderer ran before he looked, the hollows getting up from their heap as Veres sprinted in, planting his foot and spinning about on his heel, the scimitar arching in a beautiful crescent that sent their heads to the dirt as the wanderer shifted his balance and stopped in place, sweeping his gaze to find more enemies.

There was one towards the back, right where the plateau ended and the first level of the waterway began. It saw him plain as day, but didn't attack, standing by the edge.

No matter, Veres would dispatch him to keep from getting snuck up on, the wanderer charging forward with his magnificent curved blade in hand. This hollow knight was different at a glance- he seemed more patient than the minions, and had a breastplate, helmet and neck cover, and shield of rusty but rugged steel. His stomach was vulnerable to attack- Veres zeroing in-

A horrific bang shattered the wanderer's focus- his face and eyes engulfed in a blinding flash of light as his head spun. Veres stumbled, his ears ringing continually as he hit the ground, scrambling to his feet as his eyes burned shut-

His chest broke open in intense agony, the wanderer's free hand going to his chest, his fingers touching on the unmistakable, sticky heat of blood flowing from the wound and the cold gloss of steel that split his finger open as the unseen but unmistakable bite of a sword was drawn from him violently, the wanderer puking blood as it scrapped on his organs and filled him with sickening pain.

He thrust his hand out blindly- clutching the wrinkled, slick stump of a corpse's throat- Veres imagining the position of a head as he thrust his blade forward, nicking his hand but feeling the ratting of ramming his sword into metal- the helmet at the back of the hollow's head.

He unsheathed his blade from the enemy's skull, wrenching on his throat even tighter and tucking himself down while pulling the hollow up over his head – a giant bang ringing out once more, Veres plunging into a darkness and the ringing of his ears as he dropped his sword and used his sense of touch to trace down his leg to a leather holster on his thigh, his sensitive tips touching on cold jade filled with hot liquid sloshing erratically in the violence.

He yanked the estus flask from his holster, pressing the valve open with his thumb and throwing his head back as his impromptu shield was struck with yet another unseen explosion that made his teeth rattle.

He almost drowned himself in his frenzy- the estus tasting of ash and liquid fire that burned his throat and stomach like spice times a hundred- but at the same time, the heat blotted the pain, Veres feeling the ache in his chest soothed and the acid bath on his eyes turned to a normal burn of looking at the sun too long.

The wanderer opened his eyes, the pupils sending shockwaves of protest as they re-focused, spotting the shadow of the hollow held over his head by finger's that'd gripped so tightly they'd sunk to the bone, and the sheen of his sword in the grass as his healing ears were assailed by yet another burst, though he was growing accustomed to it. Veres slipped the flask, now half empty since he stupidly dumped so much, back into his holster, grabbing his sword and maneuvering his meat-shield to the side.

A hollow stood at the top of the cliff, drawing a bomb from his side and shakily reaching a flint-and-steel up to light it. Cheeky bastard…

Veres threw his meat shield aside- hastily drawing up the hollows iron shield and scurrying out of range of the bomber, who hucked yet another bomb down from the high ground, the wanderer tucking his shoulders to his ears to dissipate the shock of the next explosion, the smell of black powder filling the air. The wanderer looked to his new shield- a fairly average kite shield rusted from grey to more a beige with a dark cross in the center, resting it on his knee long enough to slip his hand into the handhold and raise it.

The wanderer didn't like shields- he was good enough with handling them, but they were usually too heavy for his lithe form (though the demon soul made him significantly stronger) to handle and they deprived him of a freehand to grab and open without sheathing/dropping his blade, but right now, he'd just have to get over it as he came up the second set of stairs, slowing near the top.

Another hollow with a battle axe came from around the final stone stairs to the waterway, the bomber readying another black-powder charge to toss his way.

_Enough of this bullshit-_ Veres came at the hollow, finding his new shield quite bearable as the hollow drew his heavy steel axe forward, Veres diving under the blade and rolling low, slicing the legs from the hollow and jumping up, relieving him of everything from the shoulders high. A whoosh of air sounded, Veres looking up in time to see a hollow at the top of the steps plunging down on him-

There was a crash of metal on metal as the broken strait sword crashed on the iron of Veres' shield- the wanderer a man possessed as his body positioned his feet to stabilize himself, throwing the hollow aside as he bounced off, the bomber tossing a powder charge-

The wander turned his shield flat and threw his whole body into a sweep- smacking the heavy iron ball and reflecting it. The projectile hit the bomber smack in the face- the bastard exploding before his burning corpse stumbled from the cliff- Veres laughing at the sight as he looked to the hollow already recovering and grabbing for his sword.

The wanderer's heavy iron boot crushed him into the dirt, the wanderer plunging his blade into the back of his head. He went still, as did the environment. The wanderer feeling his heart race as he staggered to the cliff wall to settle down and rest a bit, the rocks hard yet comforting- as he was pretty sure nothing could attack him through the wall- or better yet have the wall come to life and attack him of its own free accord

Then again, this _was_ Lordran we were talking about…

Veres spent his rest waiting for the fog to clear from his eyes as the adrenaline wore off and the fatigue of activity caught up, counting seven hollows he'd had to take down.

Seven. Not a hundred, not ten, but seven hollows damn near killed him just on the _approach_ to the waterway, the wanderer tracing his finger over the fading scar near his heart- a precise hit considering their condition.

No sugar coating it, not all hollows were as pathetic as he assumed- a mistake Veres would do his best to avoid making twice since it could and in all probability would be fatal.

Nap time over. Veres stood up, realizing he felt fine- that he didn't even feel the slightest bit sore after his beating. Then again, he was an undead: an immortal, unliving being- his strength and stamina on a supernatural level, fatigue of a heavy battle lasting only a scant few minutes.

Yeah- excellent. Veres couldn't believe how blessed he was to have such wonderful "gifts", especially since the souls he gathered from the hollows on top of what he already had would light him up like a signal flair for the hollows the whole goddamn trip.

He proceeded onwards, alert for anymore hollows lurking about, but he neither saw nor heard anymore as he walked up the steps, the sound of running water trickling behind the mossy stone wall marking the exterior of the waterway.

Veres studied the wall to keep his vertigo from acting up, trying to distract himself with the irony of being faint around heights when he was so acrobatic to distract from the sense the walkway was closing in on him, the wanderer's coat brushing on the hard stone wall and giving a faint tug, until he finally stumbled into the doorway, his heart stopping as he fell a little, but recovered.

His boot splashed in the water, which gave a faint push as it rushed through the dark, narrow tunnel lit with improvised sconces of sorts: the left ending in a sturdy iron grate with nothing but dark beyond, the right disappearing into the distance, through the city walls.

The wanderer walked with the current, the gentle streaming of water past his sopping wet feet lulling him a little, the wanderer trying his best to stay alert as he walked down the homogeneous tunnel- nothing but a dark path, followed by a light patch, then a repetition of those for hundreds of meters-

There was a growl, a shape lunging out from the darkness ahead, skittering forward with stunning speed, snapping Veres from his relaxed stupor, the wanderer thrusting his foot out and catching the shape under the throat. He looked into the face of a creature- eyes glazed over with cataracts as it's patchy fur fell of its hollowed, rotted skin as it flipped over on its back, the wanderer plunging his sword into his stomach, the writhing rat going still as it's putrid blood, so poisonous it turned the water black, spurted onto his sword.

It had to be the biggest, ugliest little rodent he'd ever seen, the wanderer shaking the last of the sleep from his head as he preceded, the familiar cloud of fog that marked the rat's soul absorbed into somewhere near his ankle.

_Have to be more careful-_ he thought, trying to get to itch of being surrounded on all sides out of his mind as he drew a raggedy cloth over his bloodstained sword and sheathed it once more.

At last, he reached the end of the tunnel- a sturdy iron door, which he saw was locked from within, barring the way. Veres almost panicked, but after looking a bit and backtracking, he found a door he'd missed, the wanderer stepping into the stairwell and starting up, the late morning light stinging his eyes a little as it crept over the defensive wall in the horizon.

No sooner had he gotten to the surface, stepping past a boarded-up side alley to the city, did the wanderer look over and spot two hollowed guards turning in their places and running at him-

Veres shifted his weight and let the first hollow clumsily jump past him, Veres parrying the axe of another aside with his shield and slipping behind him, the hollow unable to turn before he was stabbed firmly through the back with the wanderer's scimitar, Veres withdrawing his blade as the other hollow ran, brandishing his broken strait sword only to be swept off his feet, falling on his face as the spry wanderer came back to his feet and plunged his sword into the back of the hollow's neck.

A short bridge ahead, leading to another rooftop, dispensed another hollow, the thing running at him, stopping short to firmly grasp his sword in both hands and raise it high over his head. The second he waited to plunge was a second too late, the wanderer cleaving his arms off with a firm sweep, a skewer through the head finishing him off.

Veres continued on, looking to the side at a hollow below a scaffolding cocking his arm back with a familiar black shape clutched in hand.

The wanderer was ready for it, this time, going to the bridge and knocking the heavy iron ball aside into the ally below, a very confused deprived hollow getting his head blown off in the street below.

The wanderer came at the bomber, who started to reach for his sword, only to get skewered through- the wanderer running him backwards until a sudden jerk withdrew the sword from his chest, the hollow stumbling back off the edge of the roof, falling from he building into oblivion.

He turned- finding a hollow driving his sword forward, the rusty old blade burying itself in the wanderer's chest as he topped to the ground- dropping his scimitar at the sudden numb of pain driving into his lung once more.

He made an error- and didn't check the doorway he spotted to the right as he fell to his back. The hollow stabbed him again and again- the wanderer pulling his shield around to cover his chest as he struggled free, but that only aggravated the deep punctures on his chest, Veres pouring blood form his mouth and chest as he struggled to free himself, nudge towards the sword, but the hollow just kept driving his sword down into the wanderer's shield, the impact going into his arm, then his chest as he lost the strength to support it, tiring fast as he took his empty sword arm and grabbed the wrists of the hollow- his inhuman strength faltering as the hollow leaned all his weight down into the tip of his sword, creeping it down on him.

It wouldn't be long before the hollow wizened and aimed for the head, cheek soaked in blood as Veres' vision fogged. _I don't want to die again-_

The hollow finally stopped bashing his limp shield, its red eyes shifting to Veres' hooded face, it's minimal intelligence guiding its hand over for the final plunge-

Veres jerked his head to the side- the blade breaking on the stone as it racked over his cheek- the wanderer grasping the hollow by the back of the jaw and pulling him even further forward, the off-balanced hollow falling next to the wanderer, who scrambled to his feet and stumbled forward more with his tired hands than his feet- Veres vomiting blood the whole way as his coat soaked itself deep ruddy brown.

He went through the doorway of a building, falling back into the wall by the ray of sun peaking in.

The familiar feeling of death overtook Veres, the wanderer feeling his arms turning to lead weights, his legs into iron anchors, his chest into the steel boiler of a locomotive, his head heavier than a cannonball as he was drug down below conscious-

The wanderer pulled his estus flask from his side, he hollow's feet scraping the ground as it tried to figure out where he went. The wanderer lifted it to his lips with trembling hands, his finger pressing on the latch, though it shook violently and tried as hard as it could to be obstinate-

The metal slid aside, Veres drawing his head back and drinking the fiery liquid as hard as he could, nearly choking as it all poured into his aching throat. The hollow bounded in, looking around to see Veres on the direct left of the door, soaked in his own blood as his hand relaxed, an empty jade flask falling from his hands as they relaxed.

It charged forward as Veres fell back- leaping in-

Veres kicked him in the throat as hard as he could, the hollow's forward movement stopping dead as he flew back under the force of the kick. The heat overtook him- the blood halting its flow as the wounds pressed in on the themselves instantly, the estus boiling the wanderer's blood as he recovered all his strength by the time the hollow pulled himself to his feet.

Still- the burst of strength would not last long as the estus worked through his system, the instincts of the wanderer in overdrive as he slipped around the hollow, his hands clenching air as he had no shield or sword- and wasn't ready to turn his back as the hollow swung back around in an arch, his feet working to close the distance until Veres finally grabbed a chair and put it between them- the hollow breaking it partly with a strong downward slash-

But not all the way, the wanderer elbowing the hollow in the side of the head and staggering him to the side, Veres shattering the chair over his back.

He fell to the ground, but was unaffected by pain as he struggled up- Veres looking for something, anything that could be a weapon in the old crumbling house-

The hollow pulled himself from the ground- charging at the wanderer as he retreated around a corner- the thing so injured but so ridiculously hard to kill as he ran in-

A flat, black metal shape came around the blind corner, the hollow's head stopping as his feet continued- the hollow flipping to his back.

The wanderer grinned like a demon- bearing a rusty, cast-iron frying pan over his head and bringing it down- the hollows world plunging into darkness as his skull was crushed like an egg, making a sickening crunch as it imploded-

* * *

A crack of thunder roused Veres awake- if he was even asleep to begin with. The wanderer gazed out the large hole in the attic wall, surveying a rooftop below.

The buildings were built on so many tiers that looking over the edge made him nauseous with how deep the urban canyon went- down to where the light barely reached- the space lit mostly by the faint glow of torches and bonfires below.

But, at the moment, he needn't worry, as the depths and everything else was veiled in a heavy curtain of rain, drumming on the stone with a melodic, hypnotic note that made his head go fuzzy as he scanned for enemies- though it seemed even the hollows had sense enough to stay in when it was down-pouring like this.

The wanderer'd nestled at the peak of a building on one of the higher tiers, the stairs tucked into the ceiling to conceal it from the hollows: a perfect place to settle in and sleep, clean his supplies, and cater to is every bodily need.

Sadly, cozy or not, he was still basically trapped: as he'd already made up his mind that he needed maximum visibility to stand a chance against the hollows- who seemed to rise in infinite numbers these past eight days.

Unfortunately, the wall shaded the city from the sun from just before noon to just before evening, cutting the day uncomfortably short.

This cold, misty afternoon, swathing the world in grey should've been a godsend to rest himself. Sadly, sleep was a truly astonishing feat for an undead.

Hollowing put one in a state of suspended animation- they couldn't sleep if they wanted to

Fighters like Veres had to worry about being robbed or assassinated whilst asleep, which made it impractical

Plenty were simply afraid to sleep in general- a fear that wasn't all entirely unjustified, in these times.

But, perhaps what kept the wanderer up hour after hour- a full night since this started the middle of yesterday, was his restless mind as he stared at the roof until his head swum in memories and his crimson eyes turned to blurry slits.

Veres couldn't help but look back on his behavior the past month since escaping the asylum, and compare it to the faintest of memories of who he used to be- _what_ he used to be.

His job as bodyguard and grunt laborer was exactly that- a job, an occupation. There were no strings attached- just get in, hit the mark, get out. His specialty was crossing large distances on limited resources, removing all in his path, much the same as now, accept he never in his life remembered doing so as brutal and savage a manner as he did now. Harvesting the souls of the hollows was half a need- half a sport.

And the wanderer was starting to like it-

Once again he neared sleep, only for his unrest to swerve him away as the storm droned on.

A shout of pain pierced the both fog in the air and in the wanderer's darkened mind, Veres looking down to the lower rooftop and seeing a pair of figures leaving the mist-

A woman it seemed- clumsily limping along as the rain around her feet turned deep rouge, the girl clutching a broadsword in one hand and a heavy shield in the other, turning occasionally to bat at the other figure, a hollow in metal armor coming down some steps, closing in on his prey.

Veres watched as she continued fighting back on the run- the woman too panicked to realize her shield was not only too heavy for her to carry in her condition, cuts up and down her legs, chest, and arm- but it was throwing her off balance, her injured leg throwing up blood each time she threw herself around and turned back, pressuring it.

Very soon- it would lose strength completely.

As if by precognition, the woman's hurt leg buckled, sending her sprawling to the ground, the girl limply trying to claw forward from the enclosing hollow, dropping her shield, though it was too late to make a difference as she pulled herself up with her sword.

The hollow laid a heavy strike across her back, the girl falling into the waters and splashing a great plume of crimson around her. She leaned up, looking over her shoulder as more hollows emerged from the fog.

Her tears added to the rain, her moans seeping through the tranquilizing mist as she wept for mercy, a primal- rending noise. The hollow stepped in and cocked its arm back-

A knife smacked it hard in the side of the head- the hollow turning towards the sound of it ricocheting from the helm as a second bounced over the stones, the girl grabbing it and plunging herself forward- falling into the arms of the hollow and stabbing it through the side of the neck.

She fell unconsciously onto the dead hollow, the other soldiers swarming around her defenseless, bleeding body.

A shape- sweeping down from an unseen roof like a thing possessed- hit the ground jarringly hard, rolling onto its feet without skipping a step and enclosing on the closest hollow with a curved sword that gleamed through the rain. The hollow turned- an iron shield hitting it so hard it's armor crumpled like foil- the hollow flying from his feet and tumbling past his prey.

A hollow took a plunging attack, but was parried aside with the sturdy shield and sliced in two with one motion, the figure diving into the mist- appearing in only a flash to take the hollows apart as they reeled to track it.

A hollow's legs were severed at the grieves- the sword turning backwards to stab him through his face as he fell forward as the demon swept into the mist- the grinding of a sword on stone disorienting the hollows as another turned it's shield and swung wildly, the dark shape going under his arm and bringing a sword through the back of his head under his helm and leaping over a hollow ahead, twisting midair to get behind him and slash him in two at the midsection- where his breastplate couldn't reach before grinding his blade into the fog- sometimes left, sometimes right, the hollows delirious as the form with a soul of incredible power struck them down one by one with cold efficiency- their bodies falling into the rain water pooled around.

The last one fell- its head spinning into the roof with a splash.

The wanderer sheathed his sopping wet scimitar- sure he'd need to give it a hell of a scrub down before to keep the wood from rotting and the scimitar from getting rusted. He went to the side, seeing the woman sprawled over the hollow's stomach, having passed out from bloodloss and trauma.

The wanderer knelt down by her body- all but hollow after her trip through the nightmare of the Burg, her face all but lost to the patchy, corpselike skin of the hollow, though her many deaths had to be recent since she was yellowed but now rotted, yet. The lines under her eyes were already blackened with decay, her eyelids flickering as her hollowed state tried to work her awake.

Her next death would be her last, no doubt about it. Veres reached behind her neck and lifted her delicate form from the ground, reaching to his thigh and grabbing the neck of his estus flask, the one thing he could always depend on. He'd filled it at the last bonfire awhile ago, the vessel near overflowing as he brought it to her lips and administered it, watching as the wounds under her torn armor begun to seal shut, her subdued breathing getting stronger, until she was alive enough to pass out completely, going limp in his arms.

The wanderer looked around- seeing nothing more, no-one more.

It was common knowledge any sane person would be with a group- Veres, Viringisha, and a few top members of the militia excluded- but she seemed alone.

Then again, anytime a militiamen was this beat up, it usually meant their unit was wiped out by hollows and they were either separated or the sole survivor.

_What a pain…_ the wanderer thought, storing his estus flask at his side and drawing the woman from the ground, wrapping his arm underneath her thighs as he clumsily tried to balance his shield and her without dropping either.

He took a few steps, finding the hollowed girl pretty easy to carry, when he heard another set of footsteps in the mist.

They were heavy- the sound of hollow metal periodically striking the ground accompanied by a sound like sighing wind, rising and falling- like breathing.

Veres froze- going numb as he sensed an ancient, incredibly strong soul closing in- a silhouette emerging from the grey.

It was black as night in the gloom: a warrior that was three or four heads taller than the strongest of the militia- ten feet at least with a build that looked sturdy enough to shrug a demon off- a greatsword longer than one of Vere's legs hovering at his side with a shield held at the other, prepared to strike in an instant.

The wanderer could all but feel its eyes on them- assessing the frail undead as it stood perfectly still, the drum of rain echoing from his armor, the jagged horns upon his head only adding more menace to a creature Veres could tell would find murdering him on the spot to be trivial at best.

He gave a faint motion with his head, though Veres had trouble telling which one, and receded again, withdrawing for reasons only it knew.

The wanderer let out a sigh of relief he didn't realize he was holding, and carried the woman into the zigzag of the connected rooftops to his temporary hideaway.

* * *

The shieldmaiden crept her eyes open a little, the sound of hard rain echoing on the ceiling. She stretched her body, realizing she felt only cold wood on her back, rather than her reinforced armor from the shrine- her front nuzzling the back of a dark, wet leather coat- the reek of spilt blood soaked to the core of the heavy but comfortable fabric.

She leaned up, her head numbing in a rush of blood, as she'd been sitting still a very long time, her back aching from laying on the hardwood floor. Her hands rubbed over her skin- feeling little, and what she did feel was terrible, her once beautiful Thorolund skin ragged as she- she- her head ached, everything ached- and she could feel the fog of madness closing in on her as she-

There was a fight- a terrible- terrible fight- and- she lost so much- died so many-

But- she wasn't completely naked- covered by the bloody coat- and she wasn't at the bonfire, and her souls were certainly within her bosom, else she'd be rabid by now. She died- didn't she?

The room was dark, save a few candles- and a large hole in the wall- grey light filtering in from outside, a figure silhouetted against one side, reclined back and watching the roofs below. He looked over to her- the woman yelping and pulling the coat up to cover her chest-

"Awake?" he called, his voice calm but carrying a clear note of malice. The wanderer had short, extremely dark blue hair and deep crimson eyes, the deathly pale, battle-scared skin of a Carim warrior showing in light. Her blanket must've been his coat- as his trousers and boots were both wet and stained with the blood of even more victims.

The woman started backing herself away, clutching the coat tighter to her chest for protection. Her hollowed throat had trouble getting the words out, but she pushed herself into a wheezy rasp-

"_Who are you? What am I doing here?_" Veres sighed, the woman sounding ready to take a run back into the Burg to get away from him,

"I'm not interested in being on a first name basis, if you don't mind," he replied gruffly, "And you're here because I didn't want to leave you out in the rain, and this place is safe- or at least it's been so far." She got a foggy look in her dull eyes, trying to remember past her hollowing- buckling over and starting to shake as she clutched his bloody coat for comfort-

"_I remember- I think_," she mumbled, Veres knowing all too well how discomforting it was to speak hollowed, "_We sent Harper ahead to scout out the area- he came back and told us everything was clear, so we went in. When we did- there- so- many- I couldn't believe how many hollows there were- whole regiment, maybe more. Unit- hrm- wiped out- Harper got away I think- the rest of us resurrected at a bonfire we found- but- they found us there too. Whole room filled- too many- to reach- weapons_." Veres did his best to remain aloof,

"How did you escape?"

"_Harper- found another door- opened from outside. A few of us got out- but- we got separated by hollow division- blue- I saw blue fog from skull- hollows came- hollows came from- everywhere-_" she bayed, trying to hold onto herself as she relived her near death, and many full deaths, "_I found armor and weapons- dressed- then I ran- do not know- what happened to others- all near hollow- too weak to- huh haa- fight. I was still strong- found souls- so many- surrounded on all directions- sharp knife- sharp knife- from- the mists_." She thought a moment, positioning the hole in the wall with the roof below- "_You- you saved me from the- hollow? Why?_" Veres shrugged, not having thought of a good reason himself,

"Why wouldn't I?" he responded, gazing into the abyss as he put a few parts of her together in his head, "I'd have to kill them sooner or later anyway, and besides, I thought the undead were supposed to help eachother, since we're all cursed like this." She didn't say anything to that, curling in shame-

"_Were is- shield- armor_?" Veres motioned to the heavy shield and short but thick sword sitting by the sopping armor, a fire of spare wood and pine resin drying it alongside the wanderer's equipment.

"It'll have to dry awhile, else it'll rust over, but when that's done, you can feel free to leave- but-" he added, "You're coming with me awhile."

"_Hur- What?_"

"You're almost completely hollow, now. If you go back out there, your next death will be permanent. You'll either go insane, or lose your soul- your _real _soul, there will be no coming back." She hung her head, slumping back down, "That, and I doubt you'd have the strength to take care of yourself, having so few souls. I'll take you are far as the next bonfire to restore your humanity, you can do what you want from there." A few tears went over her face,

"_No humanity- lost it all._"

"Yes, but I didn't." Veres corrected, "Just this once, you can have one of mine." She breathed heavily- either surprised or elated, though Veres clutched his scimitar just in case she decided to come for it.

"_You have- humanity_?"

"_Yes._"

"_How many_?" she wondered aloud, Veres tensing.

He'd found that by killing enough hollows, you can assemble a full humanity from the fragments in their soul- you don't even need to do anything, just kill enough.

He now had three in his body, plus two sprites he scavenged off a few poor bastards who'd wandered too far.

"Two- maybe three?" Veres lied unrepentantly, "But I'll only spare one. We'll leave when this damned rain stops" he growled, finally reaching his tolerance for conversation, "Get some sleep." She nodded, settling in, Veres once again placing his back on the wall and trying to calm himself.

For the first time in quite awhile- albeit accidentally- the wanderer lulled himself to sleep…

* * *

Veres half expected to wake up in a bonfire- his throat slit in his sleep. Thankfully he didn't, sadly the woman was gone, now, her armor and weapons missing from their places, his coat folded on an old table by his other supplies. Even more sadly, she made off with roughly two or three days of his scavenged rations and both the humanities stored in his knapsack- the old peach jar empty once more.

_So much for civility-_ he growled, packing his supplies in as the morning sun shone outside, the rain finally stopping. He couldn't say he enjoyed this quiet- this nothingness save the occasional grunt and growl of a hollow or beast- more than the sound and look of the storms the past couple days, but at least he could progress, now.

He had to be close- he'd been going a long time, so he had to be closing in on the parish.

All he needed was to push a little more…

-To be continued…


End file.
